


why don't we join the masquerade

by orphan_account



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (gondolin style), Age Difference, Corporal Punishment, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, Warning - whipping/punishment scene in Chap. 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maeglin is almost completely unknowing of the ways of Gondolin when he arrives, so Glorfindel offers to become his teacher. It leads to far more than Glorfindel had bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts).



> So... Glorfindel/Maeglin and the small starting idea for this jumped into my head when I looked at your prompt, and then it kind of grew from there. I tried to include the elements you mentioned - I hope I succeeded at least a little. The Avari having tattoos was inspired by syrisa (CollyWobbleKiwi on AO3), and I also thank her for taking a look at this fic before I got it done.

It was always painful watching the boy make a fool of himself, but for the first while Glorfindel put up with it. Maeglin had lost both parents, after all, even if nobody acknowledged his father as much of a loss, and the poor boy had been raised in the wilderness, his mother barely allowed to teach him anything. His Quenya was only passable, his manners awkward to atrocious, his conduct irregular - he would be blunt and outspoken one moment, terrified the next, and hide in his room more often than not.   
  
After several months of this, with Turgon still only saying "Give him time," after Maeglin insulted Duilin's archery as 'showy and stupid' and then retreated to his room with the air of a terrified dog that expected a whipping, Glorfindel decided he needed to take matters into his own hands.   
  
It took some doing to convince Maeglin to come on a walk with him - the boy did not apparently understand that saying "No," and closing the door was an unacceptable response to a Lord asking him to come outside with them - so when Maeglin was finally encouraged outside by Turgon, squinting against the sun, Glorfindel got right to the point.   
  
"You know nothing of the ways of Gondolin," he told Maeglin, in as kind a tone as he could. "Of how to conduct yourself in any way."  
  
They were walking in one of the more empty gardens, one where the flowers opened mostly by night, but Maeglin flushed bright and angry as if Glorfindel had accused him in front of a crowd.   
  
"I have only ever heard stories about this place before I came here," he said, not looking at Glorfindel. "My mother -" He stopped, then continued in a harsh tone. "My mother did not have time to cover the finer points of etiquitte."  
  
"I know," Glorfindel said. "I am not attacking you." He suppressed a sigh - the boy really was nigh-impossible. It was a good thing he was acting now.   
  
"Why do you bring it up, then?" Maeglin turned and looked at him closely, and Glorfindel had to glance away when sharp, dark eyes began to meet his own.   
  
"Because your lack of manners reflects badly not only upon you, but upon your uncle and cousin," he said, and Maeglin started; the concentration of his gaze faded. He seemed to be paying a little more attention. "Also, it is making things unpleasant for everyone around."  
  
"What do you expect me to do about it?" Maeglin asked, glaring at an unopened flower now. "There's no place where everything is just written down. I've looked."   
  
Glorfindel felt sympathy rise in him again at the sadness of that statement; so that explained the time the boy had been spending in the library. "It's something taught from person to person, elder to junior," he said, far more gently than he had spoken before.  "Not something you could find in a book."  
  
Maeglin frowned. "How am I to find someone to instruct me, then?"  
  
Finally. Glorfindel spread his hands gracefully. "That is why I asked to speak to you. As one of the Lords most versed - if you will pardon the boast - in the matters of court, I think I can help you."  
  
Maeglin looked up at him, surprise flashing across his face. They had come abreast to a fountain of cool marble and pale gems in their wandering through the garden. The white framed Maeglin's dark hair and pale face strikingly, drew attention to the hint of strange avari tattooes at his neck, and it occurred to Glorfindel how beautiful he was - in his own wild, unlearned way, of course.   
  
"You would do that?" Maeglin asked, sounding not a little suspicious. When Glorfindel nodded, he furrowed his brow and asked another question. "What do you get in return?"  
  
"All I ask," Glorfindel said, "is that you try sincerely to improve. But I will warn you - during the time I taught you, I would be your master and you would be required to afford me respect befitting that."  
  
Maeglin's shoulders tensed; it was clear that something Glorfindel had said had touched upon a nerve, although to his credit he was trying to hide it. He looked away, over the gardens; they could see one of the sides of Turgon's tower now, and Glorfindel hoped the discussion would be resolved soon. It would be easy now for Maeglin to be called in by Turgon, who was always worrying over him, but steering them away from the tower might spook the boy.  
  
"I have not had a master for some time," Maeglin said, still not looking at Glorfindel. "I do not know if I would be a good student; I am... prone to disobedience." There was deep bitterness in his tone.  
  
Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, but refrained from asking about what Maeglin was referring to. Just because his conversational partner was blunt didn't mean that he had to be.  
  
"It is up to you, of course," he said peaceably. "I have no way to force you, and no inclination to. But if you want to learn the ways of Gondolin you will have to learn from someone, and I can say that I am fair and discreet."  
  
He sensed that he had lost a little of Maeglin's attention. Something had changed in his face - he was still looking away, but no longer as if he were staring at nothing. There was a flash of vulnerability on his face, then he quickly looked at the ground.  
  
"I will consider your offer," he said, in a low voice, and hurried away at a pace that would have been a run with just a little more speed. Glorfindel shook his head at that, and curiously looked to see what had caught the boy's attention.  
  
Idril stood on one of the balconies, enjoying the late afternoon sun. Glorfindel gave a small 'ah' of understanding.  
  
It might be that the boy was simply worried of shaming the only family he had left, or it might be some... less civilized impulse.  
  
As long as it encouraged him to learn, Glorfindel didn't particularly care. The boy would learn sooner or later the latter was impossible.   
  



	2. Chapter 2

It was not long after that that Maeglin came to him - to the door of his private room, without being asked! Glorfindel certainly had much to teach him - and stammered out a willingness to learn.  
  
"Right," Glorfindel said, and motioned for the boy to sit down in one of the chairs in the room. Maeglin chose one near a small table - suitable, Glorfindel thought, they might have to write some terms down. Before he could even reach for a pen, however, Maeglin spoke.  
  
"Among other things, I would like to learn - I would like to learn how matters of love are conducted here." He hunched atrociously on his chair, like a wild beast crouching, but Glorfindel had to feel pity for the distress on his face, how his hands nervously twisted together.  
  
Glorfindel smiled slightly, decided against touching Maeglin on the back - it might just make him more nervous, instead of lessening his distress - and, taking a pen and paper, sat down at the table.  
  
"What matters of love exactly, young one?"  
  
Maeglin flushed deep red; Aredhel must not have told him much of her various liaisons, Glorfindel thought with a surge of fond sorrow. He hoped the boy at least knew the fundamentals.  
  
"All kinds," Maeglin blurted out, eyes on the floor.  
  
Glorfindel decided to make it easier for him. "Emotional and physical?"  
  
"Yes," he said, so quietly that his lips scarcely moved.  
  
"Have you experience with either?"  
  
Maeglin shook his head vigorously. Glorfindel nodded, and began to write.  
  
"What's that?" Maeglin asked, raising his eyes nervously.  
  
"Our agreement," Glorfindel said. "Especially if I am to be instructing you in the... matters you just requested, we should have things in writing. You do not know Gondolin's ways, after all, and we don't want to run into any misunderstandings."  
  


~

  
They ran into their first one the next time Maeglin came to Glorfindel's private room.  
  
"When you said that you would instruct me," Maeglin said, gesturing to the written agreement, "in all of these things, I thought -" He was turning red again; they would have to work on that soon. Blushes were all too apparent, and embarrassing, on his pale skin.  
  
"By Varda, boy, I didn't mean I'd be your lover!" Glorfindel tried to suppress the laughter that had instinctively risen to his lips, seeing the anguish of shame on the boy's face. "I meant," he said, making his voice as kind as he could, "that I would give you instruction, and experience, but to fully indulge in that kind of thing... that is not the way a master and student behaves."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Glorfindel looked at Maeglin's downcast face, and again found himself feeling sorry for the inexperienced boy. "Did you want something of the kind to happen?" he asked gently.  
  
"No!" Maeglin answered, far too quickly. Glorfindel didn't press the issue.  
  
"To further clarify; I will never directly touch you," he chose to say instead. "If the lesson requires it you will touch yourself, or I will use a tool. Understand?"  
  
"Yes," Maeglin muttered.  
  
"What did I tell you? Eyes up, expression neutral, address me with respect."  
  
"Yes, Lord Glorfindel."  
  
~  
  
  
"The Helcaräxe?"  
  
Glorfindel suppressed a sigh. The lessons out of the bedroom seemed to be easier for Maeglin, if only because he was not so aware of his failings then, he reminded himself. He should be kind to the boy, even if he needed to be strict.  
  
"Yes, I crossed the Helcaräxe," he replied patiently, looking up at Maeglin, who sat across from him at the table with an amazed expression in his eyes, and his food barely touched. "But that is... to put it mildly, not an appropriate topic for the dining-table. And no matter how interesting the conversation is, you must also pay attention to your food. It would not do to be lingering too long after everyone else."  
  
A few days later, Ecthelion approached him. "Maeglin's finally beginning to act more civilized," he observed, with a raised eyebrow. Glorfindel only nodded. Ecthelion had probably noted how much time he had been spending with Maeglin and drawing his own conclusions, but he would not confirm it aloud.   
  
Ecthelion's next words took him by surprise, however. "Do you know he's been using his newfound conversational skills to ask everyone about you?"  
  
"Really?"   
  
"He seems to quite admire you," Ecthelion said, and smiled. Glorfindel did not bother trying to read it; if Ecthelion knew that he was teaching Maeglin, he knew that Glorfindel would not touch him during that time, and there was nothing to be amused about.   
  
He took  note of Maeglin's occasionally downcast eyes and far more easily given respect when they next met, and hoped it would not lead the youth to do anything foolish.   
  



	3. Chapter 3

Maeglin learnt well for quite some time; although he was awkward and had little to no control over his body, he submitted to Glorfindel's directions and seemed to be trying his best to improve. In some matters, perhaps, he was a little too enthusiastic - linked to his lack of control over his body, probably. Glorfindel chalked it up to only that, and when Maeglin grew aroused when Glorfindel whispered in his ear or did not want to cease a lesson on how to submit yourself to another man, he pretended to not notice the hunger in the young Noldo's eyes and merely soothed him, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders sometimes so there was an extra barrier between them.   
  
The first indication of Maeglin's frustration outside of the bedroom came when Glorfindel was least expecting it - he had given the boy the day off of lessons, glad for the respite himself and thinking Maeglin would like the time to himself. It was not, however, two hours before there was a knock on his door.   
  
"Your student's getting into a fight with Duilin," Salgant said when he opened the door, his tone altogether too cheerful.  
  
Glorfindel pressed a hand against his eyes. "Just because I am giving him instruction does not mean he is always my responsibility -"  
  
"Well, neither of them are listening to me."  
  
And so, Glorfindel found himself forced to abandon his planned day. He was already in a rather bad mood by the time he reaches the hall where Maeglin and Duilin are squabbling, and the fact that the argument - which, acccording to Salgant, started over Maeglin calling Duilin's archery stupid and showy - had degenerated to nothing but name-calling helped his mood none.   
  
Striding up to the pair, he took Maeglin by the arm without preamble. The Noldo flinched, his body going tense and then relaxing when he looked over his shoulder and saw it was Glorfindel.   
  
Almost as soon as he had relaxed, guilt began to bloom on his face; Glorfindel kept him locked in a level stare for a minute more, then turned to Duilin.   
  
"I am sorry it came to this," he said; he had to accept that people were going to blame him for Maeglin's behavior as long as he taught him, "and I am sure Maeglin will apologize."   
  
Duilin narrowed his eyes. "He has no concept of civility, and he tried to tell me that I didn't know what I was talking about - when I have been practicing these arts for hundreds of years more than he. I hope that if he apologizes, you will not simply forgive him?"  
  
"I will reprimand him," Glorfindel said. "Will that be good enough?"  
  
Duilin nodded, and Glorfindel looked at Maeglin, who was beginning to look worried.   
  
"Apologize, Maeglin."  
  
Worry changed to anger. "He started it! He was - making comments, looking at me sideways, talking about archery like I was an idiot or a child and couldn't understand anything -"  
  
"Maeglin," Glorfindel said sharply.   
  
Maeglin bit his lip, white teeth against quickly reddening skin - so lovely, so inviting to thoughts that Glorfindel should not be having - and finally ground out, not looking at Duilin, "My apologies."  
  
Glorfindel didn't waste any time leading Maeglin towards the door. "If you will pardon us, Lord Duilin."  
  
When they were outside Maeglin tried to pull away, but Glorfindel kept a grip on his arm.   
  
"You didn't have to do that," Maeglin muttered.   
  
"I am your teacher," Glorfindel said, "whatever you do reflects badly on me as well."  
  
Guilt flashed in Maeglin's eyes. "I'm sorry." When Glorfindel did not respond, his voice grew higher, more nervous. "What more do you want?"  
  
"I promised Duilin that you would be disciplined, and I will see to that."  
  
Maeglin stopped in his tracks, bringing them both to a halt; Glorfindel looked back at him, puzzled at how white the boy's face had become. "What?"  
  
"What do you intend to do?"   
  
"What do think I'm going to do, Maeglin? You look as if you expect to be executed."  
  
He regretted the words almost as soon as they had left his lips, realizing the memories they might awaken; and sure enough Maeglin's face lost its vulnerability, became closed off.   
  
"No," he said flatly; and he walked the rest of the way without Glorfindel's hand on his arm, completely silent.   
  
  
  
One or two switches should do it, Glorfindel considered, and it would be in the privacy of his room. He was concerned about Maeglin's behavior, but so light a punishment should not upset the boy further - Glorfindel had suffered far worse when he was a child learning etiquette, and Maeglin was quite a bit older than he had been then.   
  
"Kneel," he directed, once the door of his room was closed behind them, "and take off your tunic." A light switch would barely be felt through one of the heavy tunics Maeglin preferred.   
  
Maeglin's shoulders were stiff, and Glorfindel waited for a moment to see if he would ask any questions - but he obeyed, slowly and without speaking.   
  
Glorfindel had gathered a few small, springy branches from one of the trees outside his house on the day he took Maeglin on as a student; it was a testament to how willing Maeglin usually was to learn that he had not had occasion to use them yet, and it took him a minute to locate them. The room was disquietingly silent as he took one and went over to Maeglin, whose entire body was tense but who did not even turn his head to look at him.   
  
Glorfindel shook his head in puzzlement. This will be over in a minute, he told himself, then you can talk to him. "Five strokes," he said aloud. "You apologized, so that should be enough."  
  
Maeglin nodded - the movement still jerky. Still silent.   
  
The first two blows were without incident - Maeglin made a slight sound, and Glorfindel almost told him to relax, because tension couldn't be helping the pain any. He hesitated for a moment, and saw Maeglin relax slightly, and so did not say anything.   
  
Perhaps Maeglin had not been paying attention to what he said, had not been counting the strokes, and so was not expecting the third. Perhaps it touched some part of his back or arm - networked like a map with the strange, ugly tattoos - that was unusally sensitive.   
  
Fire surged through Glorfindel's shoulder. The movement with which Maeglin had twisted his torso, hand closing around Glorfindel's wrist and then twisting that, had been lightning-quick, so it seemed to go from silence one minute to pain, and Maeglin's voice stammering, the next.   
  
"Ah - I - I'm sorry, I didn't -" He rose to his feet just as quickly, his face distraught. Glorfindel found himself taking a step back instinctively, and Maeglin's face twisted yet more in pain. "I didn't mean to," he said.  
  
The next moment, Glorfindel was alone, with the echo of the door slamming. Maeglin had fled from the room like a guilty child, leaving his tunic.   
  
The switch lay on the floor, where it had dropped from Glorfindel's hand. Massaging his shoulder, Glorfindel looked at it for a long moment, then pushed it out of the way with his foot as he made his way to the cupboard.   
  
That had been... unexpected, even among Maeglin's other strange behaviors.   
  
A disobedient student. Thinking of what Maeglin had said, Glorfindel began to put together a makeshift sling - the twisting, although painful, had not damaged his arm too badly, and he could tend to it himself.   
  
He did not like to think about who had made the boy so terrified of - or sensitive to - punishment.   
 


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was gold, the sky almost painfully blue. Glorfindel's colors, and he felt the better for their presence. His arm was still aching when he moved it too quickly - perhaps he had underestimated the damage done. Sitting out his fight, however, did not sit well with him; he wanted to match his strength against Galdor again, and almost more than that wanted to carry on if things were normal. He could still remember the horror in Maeglin's eyes that had quickly followed after he lashed out. Gondolin was not a place for horrors of the past to come to light again; it was a place where they were left behind.  
  
Maeglin, however, did not seem content to let things lie.   
  
When Glorfindel had mounted on his horse there was a creak of the side-gate, and a moment later Maeglin approached; he had begun dressing better for the events he attended since Glorfindel's lessons, but the look of pure distress on his face negated any grace his clothing might have lent him.   
  
"Please," Maeglin said, in a rush as if he were afraid to say it, "please, I thought of going to you earlier to apologize, but I could not bring myself to - but I could see from the stands that you were still having trouble with your arm, and I wanted to apologize now, at least -"  
  
Glorfindel reached down and gripped Maeglin's shoulder gently, keeping a hold of his horse's reins with the other hand. "It's all right. You are forgiven, and we will not speak of it again if it is not repeated."  
  
Maeglin's eyes brightened, and his thin hand reached up to cover Glorfindel's; when Glorfindel relaxed his grip, Maeglin took hold of his hand and kissed it.   
  
Glorfindel blinked. "Ah... is this how gratitude was expressed, where you lived as a child?" The kiss was far too lingering, intimate, but he did not want to outright chide the boy, after such a recent disturbing incident.   
  
Maeglin let go immediately. "I'm sorry - yes. I wasn't thinking."  
  
"You should bow, young one," Glorfindel said gently. "Like that - no, not quite so deeply. Turgon made you a Lord, did he not? We are equal in some ways. And you might say, 'Thank you'."  
  
"Thank you, Lord Glorfindel," Maeglin said, so quietly it was almost inaudible. He looked up while still bowing - dark eyes glinting through the half-curtain of his hair - and added, "I look forward to seeing you on the field."  
  
Glorfindel took note of the flush Maeglin was trying to hide, and smiled. He was used to admiration, but Maeglin's awkward, budding adoration was endearing nonetheless. Reaching out, he put a hand on top of his head.   
  
"That was well worded," he said. "You are improving."  
  
He could mention the blush, but he does not; let the boy have a small, untainted victory after his embarassing outburst the other day. Maeglin smiled - shy, with a slight tremble to it, not like the usual guarded ones he gave.   
  
"Thank you," he said, a little louder than he had before.   
  
Glorfindel found himself smiling in return, a strange warmth blossoming in his chest.   
  
Out on the field, surrounded by the cheers of the crowd, he catches himself glancing too many times at the king's seat, at Maeglin standing at his right hand, and begins to feel the stirring of worry. He is the senior of the two of them, the civilized one; he needs to set an example, to not get carried away by emotion. And - it is simply not how things are done. It might be natural for young men to lust after or adore those they looked up to, but it was not right for those youthful passions to be indulged; that was what he had been taught.   
  
But his heart warms in a treacherous way at the memory of Maeglin's smile - or, worse yet, at the taut-cord quiver of his muscles when he caught Glorfindel's hand, the clean lines of his fair body.   
  
It seems Maeglin has given him more of a disadvantage than an aching arm in this fight, he grimly thinks, and tries to clear his mind. That, at least, he can still do - let go of everything but the task at hand. He does not, however, enjoy the thought of there still being lessons to come.   
  
It would be more difficult than he had first expected.   
 


	5. Chapter 5

After he had admitted it to himself, there on the fighting-ground under Maeglin's gaze, it was hard for Glorfindel to ignore his attraction.  
  
The boy is too young, he tried telling himself; but Maeglin was conducting himself with greater maturity every day, ladies of the great Houses looking on him with favor, and there seemed to be half a dozen new speculations about who he had his heart set upon each day.  
  
The boy is wild, he tried next, his eyes drawn to Maeglin's Avari tattoos when they both peeled off their tunics to spar on a particularly warm day. Uncivilized, for all Glorfindel was helping him put on a veneer of civilization. Glorfindel would be taking advantage of the boy's wildness and ignorance if he overstepped the boundaries of a master-and-student bond.  
  
It does not help that Maeglin's half-dark nature - the touch of something strange and exotic in the languages he murmured under his breath now and again, the tattoos that were looked down upon among the Eldar but Maeglin still seemed to bear with a unquenchable, defiant pride - only made him more attractive. Or that Maeglin himself did not seem to think that Glorfindel would be taking advantage of him at all, if his sideways glances and uncertain half-smiles meant what Glorfindel guessed.  
  
His heart still belongs to another, Glorfindel told himself fiercely; and that other is something you may have to address, because he does not seem to be disposing of the infatuation on his own. And it was true that Maeglin would still stop talking, sometimes, when Idril Celebrindal passed by, his eyes following her with a painful, pathetic longing that made Glorfindel look away, at how unguarded Maeglin was about something so _wrong_ -  
  
and yet. And yet. His eyes followed Glorfindel, as well, with a kind of hope mixed with the longing. It was growing harder and harder to think of him as 'the boy', instead of Maeglin.  
  
And when Maeglin kissed him during a lesson, Glorfindel did not have time to come up with any of his objections in his mind before his body responded, and returned it.  
  
They were both sitting on the floor of Glorfindel's room at the time, something that usually put Maeglin at more ease than perching on a chair - their sparring lessons had always been a little more tense, after the disciplinary session that had led to Glorfindel's arm being twisted, and Maeglin had given him a bruise today. He had been trying to put the young Noldo more at ease, as they spoke about what he might do when Turgon made him a lord; perhaps it had worked too well. Maeglin had simply stopped, in the middle of a sentence, and when Glorfindel looked up at him, puzzled...  
  
His lips were dry and warm. Glorfindel had taught him the proper form for a kiss, before - their lips not-quite-touching as he showed Maeglin how to angle the head and avoid bumping into the other person in an embarrassing way - so it was soft and not particularly awkward. Quite nice, actually. Glorfindel's head went slightly fuzzy, and without thinking he let his lips part, his eyes closing slowly.  
  
Still! - and he returned to this many times in the future - still, he was the first to pull back, to come to his senses; he certainly didn't encourage Maeglin.  
  
"No," he said, with difficulty. His heart had sped up slightly - he got it back under control easily, and took a deep breath. "Let's just continue with what we were talking a-"  
  
"Why?" Maeglin asked, brows drawing together. His hand reached out, rested lightly on Glorfindel's shoulder, where the bruise was hidden under his tunic. "Why did you stop - you were - you said that, if someone kissed you in return, you could tell that they were at least a little interested in you."  
  
"I also told you to not kiss someone without asking their permission," Glorfindel said, feeling confused for a moment about why exactly he had stopped.  
  
"May I kiss you?"  
  
"I - no, you may not! I told you, that is not how things are done here." After a pause, Glorfindel's resolve weakened - Maeglin was very lovely, with his confused dark eyes and his pale lips slightly flushed, after all - and he added, "Maybe someday, after your lessons have ceased. But we will not end them any time soon if you persist in sidetracking -"  
  
"You were serious, about the master and student business?"  
  
Glorfindel blinked at him, noticing that Maeglin's hand still had not moved from his shoulder. "Yes. Did you think otherwise?"  
  
Maeglin dropped his eyes. "It seems very strange to me," he said, in a subdued voice, then added, "And unnecessary," in a surly mumble.  
  
Glorfindel tried to not let a smile pull at his mouth. "Don't mutter."  
  
Maeglin looked up at him from under his eyelashes - something Glorfindel told him in a previous lesson was a good idea, seeing at he was quite gifted in that area.  
  
"What, are you going to punish me?"  
  
He closed his mouth very quickly after the words, as if just realizing he was saying them out loud; but it was not fear mixed with his words, as Glorfindel might have expected, but an odd kind of... daring? It was hard to identify, and harder even to guess at why it would be there.  
  
Glorfindel stared at him in silence for a moment, until Maeglin looked away.  
  
"No," he finally said.  
  
He did not say they would conclude their conversation there, but it ended nonetheless; Maeglin left soon afterward, with a toss of his head that could have been to mask uncertainty or fueled by anger.  
  
For the second time in far too little time for such incidents to be occuring, Glorfindel found himself left alone with his uneasy thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days were quiet, save that Maeglin seemed to take every opportunity to ask strange questions - about Glorfindel's beliefs, about how he viewed Maeglin's tattoos or the language he slipped into sometimes or how he preferred work in the mines to other, more well-viewed work that was offered to him; Glorfindel had the feeling the young Noldo was trying to aggravate him. So he replied to every question as mildly as he could, tried to hurry Maeglin's lessons along, declined to teach Maeglin any more in the 'arts of love' - "You have already learned all I care to teach you," he told Maeglin, not able to keep his tone from going slightly cold - and hoped that Maeglin would give up this strange game. He was patient, and he had tried to forgive the youth - but Maeglin was intelligent, and had clearly felt guilty after accidentally injuring Glorfindel. He should know enough to not try and force a confrontation again.  
  
As to why he was trying... Glorfindel had known a few people in his life who enjoyed losing control, or being punished, but it had rarely been paired with the same bowstring-taut fear and angry secrecy that appeared in Maeglin every time a situation like that came about. Glorfindel considered, several times within the few days, whether he should approach Maeglin and tell him all of this - it was possible that by antagonizing him the young Noldo was pursuing an instinct he did not fully understand, and if things were made clearer to him he would stop his strange questions and sideways looks.  
  
Unfortunately, it seemed Maeglin could not hold off on causing another incident until Glorfindel had marshaled all his thoughts and arguments.  
  
Glorfindel was coming late to the hall where the lords ate when he began to hear raised voices. With a sense of stepping into a memory, he quickened his pace, and within a minute more was able to tell that one of the voices was, once again, Maeglin's. For a moment he considered turning around and leaving - but he would come in for a part of the blame, then, for what teacher leaves his student to fend for themselves when they are clearly incapable of it? Even, Glorfindel added on, if the student was a bloody fool who could not stop starting fights with the people he was shortly to join the ranks of.  
  
Cursing the altruism and desire to not see people make fools of themselves that had led him to become Maeglin's teacher in the first place, Glorfindel entered the room with his breath already drawn in to call out a reprimand. The situation, however, gave him pause - it was Galdor that Maeglin was facing down this time, both of them standing on opposite sides of the table. The other lords looked to be unsure of whether to join in or just watch; a quick glance around reminded Glorfindel that Salgant was not present. Turgon had wanted him for something, he recalled.  
  
Several heads turned when he entered the room; not so Galdor and Maeglin, who were locked in a cold stare. "- affront to your uncle who harbors you," Galdor was saying. "It seems that all efforts to teach you have failed, for you are as strange and ungracious -"  
  
"If my teachings are under question," Glorfindel said evenly, approaching the table, "perhaps you should address your criticisms to me?" Maeglin was shaking, he noted with concern, his face very white and his fists clenched.  
  
Galdor's lips thinned; his eyes flicked sideways, towards Glorfindel. "My apologies. I merely raised the question of why Maeglin does not attempt to cover up those - markings, and he took offense -"  
  
"I do!" Maeglin hissed. "Forgive me for not covering every inch of my skin every moment of the day -"  
  
"You should take more care," Galdor said, his eyes going back to Maeglin, "as I said, you should keep in mind what they represent and be ashamed, not defend them -"  
  
"Galdor," Glorfindel said sharply. He saw that Maeglin was wearing one of the shirts that he had recieved shortly after he came to Gondolin - one of those that exposed a little of his neck if he was not careful. The Avari tattoos stood out, black and dark red against Maeglin's pale skin, and Glorfindel suppressed the urge to wince.  
  
"You may be over-zealous; I know you run the guard that protects the city -" _I know your men were the ones who were afraid to touch the Dark Elf_ , he added in his head, and knew from his eyes that Galdor understood, _I know that it is because of that he was able to conceal that dart, and kill the Lady Aredhel, I know that being reminded of him rouses your anger like nothing else_ , "But Maeglin does try -"  
  
"Will you speak for me as if I were a child?" Maeglin said, his eyes glittering with anger and pain; and to Glorfindel's dismay, he pulled the collar of his tunic down a little, revealing more of the tattoo. "I am not a child! That is what this means!"  
  
There was an icy silence in the room, save for Maeglin's quick breathing.  
  
"Glorfindel," Rog said, his low rumble of a voice holding a dangerous note, "I think you should take your student elsewhere for the moment."  
  
Galdor nodded, rather pale now; Glorfindel was glad that he was refraining from speaking further. He came forward and laid a hand on Maeglin's arm.  
  
"Come -"  
  
"I'll leave myself." Maeglin pulled away from his grasp, went for the door; it slammed behind him. Glorfindel gave a low sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
"If he had any kind of self-control he would not have taken offense like that -" Galdor began.  
  
"I know," Glorfindel said sharply, then softened his tone. "I know. He is... troubled. He learns what I teach him, but if one of his moods takes him it's impossible to get him to follow what he's learnt."  
  
"You should go after him," Rog said, his brows lowered. Glorfindel looked at him in surprise. "I've spoken to him in the smithy a few times," Rog said, at the look. "He seems good-hearted; he will probably regret his outburst soon."  
  
"You're right," Glorfindel said, shaking his head. "My apologies to you all."  
  
Maeglin was, surprisingly, still in sight when Glorfindel left the room; at the end of the hallway. He turned his head slightly when he heard Glorfindel approach - he was leaning against the wall, and Glorfindel noted that his knuckles were scraped as if he had punched it. The neck of his tunic was still askew, the ring of tattoos shifting as he swallowed hard.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"Not here," Glorfindel said, as he caught up. "We shouldn't talk in the hall."  
  
Maeglin looked away. "My room is nearby," he finally said, his voice hard to hear.  
  
It was the first time Glorfindel had seen his room; Maeglin had never offered him entry before. The first thing that struck him was how cluttered it was; the second, how cold it seemed. The clutter was all books from the library, or ones Glorfindel had lent him, or odd little projects half-put-together - there seemed to be no colors except black and grey, and the young Noldo had no personal insignia yet; almost everything was blank. A few bore Turgon's marks.  
  
Perhaps the coldness of the room, however, was directly related the the distress of the inhabitant. Maeglin swept a few things off the bed with a careless hand and sat on it, shoulders hunched and still not meeting Glorfindel's. Glorfindel moved a stack of books off a chair - having to settle for putting it on the floor - and dragged the chair over to sit across from him.  
  
"Are you going to tell me what all this is about?" he asked quietly.  
  
Maeglin seemed to draw even more in on himself. "What?"  
  
"You know what I mean." Glorfindel leant forward, linking his fingers together; he felt weary. "All of this - persisting in trying to get me to be with you, despite being told it is impossible at the moment - or even stranger, trying to get me to punish you. You struck out at me when I attempted it once before, Maeglin, and I avoided it because of that - but you've been trying to force my hand. And now, tonight..."  
  
"You weren't there," Maeglin said furiously. "He -" A dam seemed to break; he tilted back his head and stared at the ceiling, his breathing coming in dangerously fast pants that were almost sobs. His cheeks were wet. "He thinks I'm my father," he said, his voice calmer than before save for the panic-quick breathing. "Almost everyone does. No matter how hard I try, no matter how carefully I cover my marks and speak Quenya and act polite, they - I've heard people whispering, calling me part-orc, saying I bewitched Turgon or that he is blinded by his love for his sister if he thinks I am fit to be a Lord -"  
  
Glorfindel reached out, his fingers tangling in Maeglin's black hair as he cupped the side of his head. "Shh," he said, thumb stroking gently along the line of Maeglin's chin. "Breathe."  
  
It worked; Maeglin took a deep gulp of breath and relaxed. His shoulders going down slightly, he nuzzled into the touch of Glorfindel's hand like a child, eyes closing.  
  
"Go on when you can," Glorfindel said, keeping his tone as soft as possible. "Why did you ask me all those questions?"  
  
Maeglin's shoulders rose and fell, the motion small and tired.  
  
"I have had nobody, in all my life, look upon me as desirable," he said. There was a terrible ache in his voice. Opening his eyes, he added, "I... I know I hurt you, then, but... some part of me wanted you to punish me again."  
  
"You felt like you deserved it?" Glorfindel guessed.  
  
Maeglin gave a tiny nod. "That... might be it. So I wanted to know... I felt as if the reasons you gave, that I was your student and that was why you wouldn't - I felt like that wasn't good enough. I felt that there had to be something more, that I had made you angry or that you saw my father in me, like others did... so I asked you again and again, hoping that I'd find out what it was, or at least that you would..." He looked down, a flush staining his cheeks, "...that you would reprimand me for asking."  
  
Glorfindel regarded him with a small frown. He had a strong feeling that there was something more Maeglin was not telling him; the way he spoke of not being found 'desirable' - and he had the feeling that Maeglin's desire for punishment ran deeper than the whispers and looks that made him feel like he was doing wrong by existing.  
  
 _Ill-gotten son._  
  
Glorfindel shivered slightly at the memory that drifted across his mind. Maeglin had been silent, he recalled; standing there in the bright, cold morning, his dark eyes wide as he watched his father go to his death.  
  
It was hard for Glorfindel to comprehend anyone being regretful that murderous, sorcerous bastard was dead - but Eöl had blamed Maeglin, there on the walls, for deserting him. Maeglin was quite young, perhaps he had taken that accusation to heart even if it came from someone who had imprisoned him most of his life...  
  
"Glorfindel?"  
  
He had been silent for several minutes now, he realized, and looked up to meet Maeglin's worried eyes.  
  
Perhaps what he did in that next minute was wrong. Perhaps he should have stood firm and chastely comforted the boy, keeping to the rules he himself had been taught, reminding Maeglin that they were in Gondolin and past horrors were to be buried, their ghosts to go unfed.  
  
But Maeglin was flushed, his cheeks damp and eyes bright, and very close, and his voice had sounded painfully broken when he spoke of never being wanted.  
  
So Glorfindel leant forward, his golden hair mingling with Maeglin's black, and kissed him.  



	7. Chapter 7

All of the instruction he had given Maeglin seemed to have been lost by the young Noldo - well, Glorfindel thought hazily, as Maeglin's lips responded to his with clumsy force and the youth practically dragged him forward towards the bed, he had always said Maeglin forgot his instructions when one of his moods took him.  
  
If a mood was on him now, it was one of pure desperation and need. Glorfindel responded with all the care he could muster to Maeglin's clutching hands and eager tongue and too-rough motions - one of them had to keep their head. He rose from his chair and stepped forward; Maeglin pulled him down, then, on top of him on the bed, and Glorfindel found this new turn of events rather agreeable.  
  
Moving from Maeglin's mouth, he followed the line of his jaw, trying to be gentle enough so as not to leave too-red marks - he moved down, brushing his lips against one of the strange tattoos.  
  
"This means that you are not a child, hm?" he asked, breathless. Maeglin stiffened a little, but relaxed when Glorfindel's tongue flickered out against his skin.  
  
"That is w-what they meant," he admitted, voice breaking a little as Glorfindel began to mouth his skin. "My fa- Eöl put them there - oh!" The exclamation that followed sounded somewhere between a cough and a hum, deep in his throat; no language Glorfindel recongnized, but Glorfindel was almost willing to let that pass in exchange for the way Maeglin squirmed beneath him when he sucked on the skin of his neck.  
  
After one or two more words Glorfindel could not understand, though, an idea entered into his head. He raised himself a little, biting his lip at the whine Maeglin gave, and looked down at the young Noldo.  
  
"Do you remember that I told you," he said, trying to catch his breath, "to only speak Quenya in my presence?"  
  
Maeglin looked up at him with eyes wide, and so dark it was hard to tell where pupil ended and the rest began; his brow wrinkled in confusion that vanished when Glorfindel bent low and said into his ear, "Do you still want to be punished?"  
  
A shudder went through the body under his hands; Maeglin nodded. Glorfindel smiled, feeling his cock beginning to rise in earnest.  
  
"Remember," he said, "ask me to stop, at any time, and I shall."  
  
He waited for Maeglin's nod and said, in a much harsher tone, "Now, turn over."  
  
Truth be told; he had had many lovers in his time, male and female, but the time he had spent training Maeglin had mostly been empty of anyone to warm his bed. He found himself far more swiftly excited than he had expected when he drew back and Maeglin pushed himself up a little, arms trembling, and with a glance at Glorfindel that was filled with a thousand shades of anticipation, turned over on the bed. Glorfindel drew in a deep breath, running a hand up Maeglin's leg; firm thigh and buttock under the pressure of his hand, the latter which he gave a light slap to.  
  
Maeglin gasped softly.  
  
"You have disobeyed me, ignored my teachings," Glorfindel said, letting his voice hang heavy on every word, filled with disapproval, "and now you speak some base language in my presence. I think, Maeglin, you need punishment. Do you agree?"  
  
He leant over Maeglin, watching him. Maeglin hesitated, hands curling into the bedsheets, and finally nodded.  
  
"What's this?" Glorfindel murmured, testing the waters. "Are you welcoming the thought of punishment?"  
  
That got a reaction - a shiver, a twitch of Maeglin's hips against the covers. Glorfindel smiled a little not letting Maeglin see it, and then slapped his arse again sharply. Maeglin gave a small cry.  
  
"Up on your hands and knees!" Glorfindel commanded. "You think I'll let you take your own pleasure, when you need to be punished?"  
  
Maeglin obeyed, biting his lip, although it was a clear effort for him to raise his hips from the bed; his cock was showing hard through his breeches already. "Forgive me," he said, his voice rough with need.  
  
"Not until you have suffered."  
  
Glorfindel would have expected to feel more guilty, breaking the rules he had asserted over and over again to Maeglin in the past; but it was strangely glorious, letting himself fall into the familiar role of the dominant player, indulging both his and Maeglin's long-denied desires. And Maeglin - ah, Maeglin was more beautiful than ever, his lip red from being bitten and his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth hanging open, fingers digging into the covers as Glorfindel spanked him. There was a dampness on his breeches now, around the head of his cock; his hips rocked against empty air, but he did not lower them to the bed.  
  
"Good," Glorfindel praised him, finally, wrapping Maeglin's black hair around his fingers and leaning down to kiss beside his ear. Maeglin gave a sob of relief, shoulders hunching. "Now that you've paid for what you did, how are you going to repay me? Remember what I said; as your teacher, all you do reflects badly on me..."  
  
Maeglin turned his head, clumsily finding his mouth and kissing him; Glorfindel permitted it for a moment, but broke the kiss and repeated, "Well?" far more quickly than he might have; his own cock was aching steadily, as he had refrained from touching himself so far.  
  
"Do you -" Maeglin coughed, cleared his throat; his eyes, as he blinked away the tears that had risen to them, were strangely shy. "Do you wish... to take pleasure from me?"  
  
Glorfindel had to repress the urge to simply reply "Certainly" and get started; he pretended to consider, head tilted to one side.  
  
"You are very lovely," he said; and his heart almost hurt at how Maeglin's face lit up. The young Noldo probably couldn't take much more suspense, he decided. "Yes, I believe I will. Take off your clothes."  
  
He crossed to the other side of the room, waiting to hear the rustle of cloth before he opened the drawer he had reached. Maeglin would probably be too sensitive, and too new to the whole experience, to appreciate being truly taken - but there was something that was perfectly within Glorfindel's grasp. He located a vial of oil - meant for especially dry hands, but it would work - from the drawer he had been searching in and returned just as Maeglin finished shedding his clothes.  
  
By the Valar, the boy truly was beautiful, even with the strange tattoos that marred his body in places. His cock was full, lying against his thigh, and as Glorfindel watched his hand began to drift to it.  
  
"No," Glorfindel said, and when Maeglin looked up with a guilty blush, he handed him the oil. "Slick your thighs with this."  
  
It was a distracting enough sight that it took Glorfindel a little longer than it should have to get out of his breeches; Maeglin fumbling with the stopper and spilling the oil on his thighs, slicking it on with a trembling hand, a whimper escaping his lips when he brushed against his cock.  
  
Glorfindel didn't bother with his tunic; as soon as he had gotten rid of his breeches, he took the oil from Maeglin and set it down on the nearby table. He pushed the boy back on the bed and straddled him, and - when Maeglin looked up at him with parted lips and eyes full of desperate need - he finally lowered himself, and reaching down guided his cock between Maeglin's thighs.  
  
"Press them together," he ordered hoarsely - then words were lost to him for a few minutes. The warm, slick pressure of Maeglin's thighs, Maeglin little keening cries whenever Glorfindel brushed against his cock - there was another exclamation in a language Glorfindel didn't recognize, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The tension and anger of the last week or so seemed to vanish as he rolled his hips, thrusting slowly and then faster as he lost contol, and Maeglin's hands clung to his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss.  
  
He could sense that he was going to lose himself far more quickly than usual, but Maeglin was no better, hips beginning to push up against Glorfindel's and his voice breaking on long, loud cries of the unfamiliar language. Glorfindel moved down upon him, thrusting hard and muffling Maeglin's cries in his mouth with a rough kiss.  
  
"Let go," he said hoarsely, reaching down to wrap a hand around Maeglin's cock - Maeglin almost screamed, hips bucking. "Come - come, Maeglin, let go."  
  
Gasping for breath and a semblance of control, he leant down and kissed Maeglin's forehead.  
  
"You are - you are forgiven."  
  
He did not know what Maeglin cried out then as he came, hard and messy, spilling in the grip of Glorfindel's hand; but nor did he particularly care.  
  
He relinquished his last thread of thin control over his own body and let himself spill, the sensation almost painfully sweet.

~

Afterward, in the full dark of night, Glorfindel managed to rise. 

"Maeglin," he said gently, kissing the top of the young Noldo's head. "I have something else to teach you now."

"Mm?" Maeglin went almost boneless after his release, Glorfindel had discovered; his face more peaceful than he had seen it since he came to Gondolin. 

"After this kind of things happen, we clean up." Glorfindel tapped his shoulder. "Come, you must have a bath nearby."

Maeglin's shoulders tensed; for a moment, Glorfindel was worried, but he gave a soft laugh.

"Of course," he said, in Quenya far better than when he had first come to Gondolin.

Glorfindel finally let himself smile in relief. 


End file.
